


Pull The Strings

by Nicxan



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Brotherly Affection, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Nightmares, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:27:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21958111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicxan/pseuds/Nicxan
Summary: Papa II struggles with a particular nightmare.
Kudos: 18





	Pull The Strings

_He awoke in a small wooden box._  
  
 _This was perplexing enough on its own; Papa knew that he had fallen asleep on his plush bed, under the silken sheets and thick blankets. He had been in his own room. How had he been moved here? Papa tried to swear under his breath, but found himself unable to. When he tried to turn his head to get a look around, it only lolled to the side lifelessly._  
  
 _A quiet, primal fear seized his heart._  
  
 _No, he should be able to move. Nothing had changed from a few hours ago, couldn’t have. Papa tried to raise his arm, but despite his best efforts, it didn’t even move an inch. Any attempts to lift his legs were futile._  
  
‘What’s going on?’  
  
 _He kept trying. Maybe if he just focused enough, he’d be able to get up and move around like he was supposed to. Papa wanted to grit his teeth in sheer determination, but he found himself unable to do even that. He only heard a creak come from his jaw._

 _This was wrong. All of this was wrong, and he couldn’t even yell at whoever had done this to him. Anger boiled in the pit of his stomach. Once he got out of this ... whatever this was, he’d give them all a piece of his mind. All he had to do was get out._  
  
 _Papa jerked his head to the side; he only succeeded in making it fall forward. He felt his hat bump into something next to him, but all he could see were his pathetically small wooden feet and the equally pathetic, jointed legs that attached them._  
  
 _He tried to scream, even while knowing he could not. He felt his wooden body try to heave with sobs, but he couldn’t even shed a tear. Papa remained as still as ever, staring vacantly into the empty space below._  
  
‘Fratello!’ _Papa tried to call._ ‘Aiutami!’  
  
 _A loud clatter from nearby startled him, but he couldn’t even jump. Papa looked on in horror as a marionette mockery of his older brother collapsed before him. His gaze was blank -- empty. His bright white hat tumbled off of his head, rolling off to the side. Strings fell gracefully at Papa’s wooden legs. He could barely even feel them._  
  
 _He needed to get out._  
  
 _Papa desperately renewed his efforts to move, even just a little inch forward. He couldn’t make himself fall, nor walk, nor even reach out to his just as helpless brother. All he could do was look._  
  
 _A bright stream of light came up from above. For a moment, Papa prayed that it was Lucifer himself giving him salvation. His hopes were dashed when Sister Imperator’s hand reached for him instead._  
  
‘Stop!’  
  
 _“You’ll stop when I tell you to stop,” she snapped. Papa tried to struggle when she lifted the control, but was powerless to stop her from lifting him. He moved, but not of his own volition. Sister dropped his limp form on a stage. The lights were so bright that he couldn’t even see the faceless crowd before him._  
  
 _Papa did, however, move. Sister lifted the strings for his arms, adjusting them to make him grab the mic. His mouth was finally allowed to open. He tried to protest what she was doing to him, but he could only sing for the fans. When he tried to deviate from her script, she slammed his mouth shut so hard that it almost hurt him._  
  
 _All he could do was sing and entertain. Sister’s sadistic smile would make his knees quake, if he were allowed to do so._  
  
‘Stop! Stop!’  
  
 _“What did I tell you?” The stage and crowd were gone in a flash; Sister had ripped Papa away from the stage in one fluid motion, holding him up so that he had to look into her eyes. “We’re not done with you yet.”_

* * *

“Wake up.”  
  
The soft, soothing voice of the First jolted the Second from his sleep. He relished in every little movement: clutching the blankets tightly, looking around desperately to take in his surroundings, being able to take shallow, panicked breaths.  
  
The way he was able to bite back a pathetic little sob.  
  
Emeritus the First had pulled up the closest chair to sit in, and he had taken a place right by his bed. The First looked upon his brother with worry; while his actual expression looked as stony as ever, his eyes shone with concern. It almost made the Second feel ill.  
  
Well, more so than he already did.  
  
“What is it? It’s too early for me to be up.” He wasn’t sure if that was entirely true -- winter tended to be fickle -- but he could at least bet on the sun not being up. He had to at least maintain normalcy. He had taken on papacy very recently; this wasn’t the time to show weakness.  
  
“When a Sister of Sin comes to me in a panic because of you shouting in your sleep, I cannot help wanting to check on you.”  
  
Oh.  
  
“ _Merda,_ ” the Second muttered to himself. “I am not a child anymore. Nightmares shouldn’t bother me like this.”  
  
“We all have them,” his brother responded soothingly. “Even I do, from time to time. And some shake me deeply. It is all right to be upset, even knowing it isn’t real.”  
  
Satan alive, the man was too damned patient for his own good. It was going to get him in trouble one of these days. Papa -- he sternly reminded himself that was his title now -- flopped back down onto the bed with a half-hearted groan.  
  
“Was it the marionette dream again?”  
  
“Yes.” Papa couldn’t really help his irritation at this point. “Word for word.” That should mean that he could see what was coming, predict it, and somehow, maybe, make it take some different turn. A turn that didn’t make him cry out in his sleep.  
  
The First frowned deeply, but said nothing further on the matter. Instead, he opened his arms, raising his eyebrows expectantly. Papa sneered in response, recoiling away from his brother just to get his point across a bit more. In fact, he buried himself into the blankets further.  
  
“I won’t.”  
  
“I know you need one.”  
  
“That’s ridiculous.”  
  
“What’s more ridiculous is saying you do not need one.” The First remained perfectly still, arms still open wide, almost as if he knew that his younger brother would accept it anyway.  
  
It took a little time and a stare down, but he did. He scooted towards the edge of the bed hesitantly, paused, and then took the First up on the offer. Papa was ashamed of how hard he clung to the First’s robes, shaking like a leaf. The angle was awkward. He couldn’t hold it for long. But even though he’d never say it out loud, he was grateful for his brother’s presence. He didn’t have to hide anything from him.  
  
Hell, he couldn’t if he wanted to.  
  
“Still me,” Papa muttered. It was mostly to himself, but he wasn’t surprised when he heard his brother reply, still as comforting as ever.  
  
“You’re still yourself, yes.”  
  
Papa exhaled silently, relieved. At least he could act ‘human’; he knew it was safe to do so. He wasn’t some sort of lifeless doll. He just had to remember that. As difficult as it was, he _had to_. There was no way he’d function if he didn’t.  
  
He knew that both of them knew that. 

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas I got you angst
> 
> I was heavily inspired by some great fanart that I saw, which I will link [here](https://retroillustrates.tumblr.com/post/189831247263/like-a-doll-like-a-puppet-with-no-will-at-all) because seriously it's so creepy and unnerving and good.
> 
> I hope you all have a good holiday!


End file.
